


5

by AeeDee



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Coming of Age, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 scenes of Bruce and Dick as they fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5

1

“Bruce,” there’s a hint of mischief in his voice, as he stares at him from where he’s perched on the floor. Like a restless cat he peers over the edge of the couch, with brilliant eyes that catch a hint of stray sunlight. A slow blink, heavy eyelashes falling closed for a moment.

“Dick,” Bruce responds, as he turns another page in his book.

“Can I turn on the tv?” a faint rustling, as the boy rebalances himself against the couch.

“Yes.”

A quick shuffle of feet, and a breathy exclamation as Dick jumps and leaps onto the couch, the cushion whining below his weight as he collides against it and sinks in. He’s quick to scramble for the remote, frantically pushing buttons as the television roars to life. Uneven sounds blur into each other as Dick flips through the channels. There’s a slight frown on his face, as he idly bites his lip until he finds what he was looking for.

Bruce looks at the screen; he frowns to himself and returns his attention to his book. He doesn't need to watch it; he can hear well enough, when Dick turns up the volume. He already knows the story.

They lived it.

Iris Allen’s voice; he recognizes it immediately. She speaks excitedly about a rare sighting of Batman—and a sidekick she calls “spry,” Robin—in Central City. Batman, in an even rarer collaboration, assisted The Flash in helping to rescue innocent civilians from a tense hostage situation. The details are unclear. They always are. Nobody ever knows the plan; nobody except the individuals that planned and executed it.

Bruce takes another look at Dick. The kid, from head to toe, is beaming. He’s glowing. The smile on his face gets bigger as Iris continues on, and his eyes dart across the screen anxiously when she presents captured footage of the costumed “heroes” during their mission.

Dick is… proud.

Bruce can barely remember what that feels like. In the early days, the first couple of years, his spirit was strong. His enthusiasm was at its peak. But then there came the losses. The failures. The nights when he was too late to the scene. The moments when a powerful opponent would bring him to the edge of death. The days when he was training Robin, oscillating between pride and terror that this kid was going to get himself killed out there.

But Dick has always been...

Dick has always been proud of their work. Of everything they do. Of everything they try to do. Of everything they dream of doing. Of every moment in the sun with his fellow heroes, and every moment when he’s caught on television, even beneath a mask, having the time of his life and feeling like a star.

A quiet sound from the boy sitting beside him, as he turns the volume down. The story’s over. But it’s still playing in his mind. He breathes slowly; almost hesitantly, as Bruce is interrupted out of his thoughts by the immediate warmth against his side. Dick reclines against him, with a sigh as he says, “Hey, Bruce.”

“Dick,” but this time it’s a question.

“I’m glad we do this.”

He doesn’t ask _do what_. He knows the answer.

-

2

A half-awake yawn, as he stretches his arms out. The suit is stiff and uncomfortable, but it’s about to come off soon enough. It’s been a long night. “Bruce,” a small whine.

“Dick,” Bruce is sliding off his jacket, as he glances back at him. "What is it."

Dick watches him for a moment, as if intrigued by something he’s doing. But he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he continues to complain. “I’m tired.”

“You can go to bed,” Bruce patiently recommends, folding his jacket and setting it down onto the nearest chair. He’s working at his tie when he hears Dick give a slow sigh.

“That was boring,” the boy says. “I think that was the worst one ever.”

“Somehow, you survived,” Bruce makes a joke, in his own way. A neutral expression and a deadpan voice that makes Dick laugh as soon as he hears it.

Dick always laughs when Bruce says something like that. Either that response, or he smiles. Always one or the other. Bruce has a terrible sense of humor. He never needed one, for most of his life. Out there in the spotlight, among the famous and wealthy, he’s learned to fake a pretty sharp one.

But when he’s on his own, he can’t tell the lie anymore. He can’t pretend to find humor where he sees none, when he’s alone with Dick. Somehow, everything he says to Dick needs to be the truth. Because the damn kid can see right through him. So he tries to find joy in the small moments he can. Tries to let his spirit be light—just a little—whenever it’s possible.

When Bruce turns to set his tie down with his jacket, he’s surprised to see that boy standing uncomfortably close.

“Why do we have to go to all these things,” Dick’s asking.

“Keeping up appearances,” Bruce says, as he undoes his belt. “Get undressed,” he says in a lower tone.

“I know, but…” he pauses, as he slides off his jacket, and drops it clumsily beside Bruce’s, with little concern to how it lands. “Can’t we do something a little more fun?”

Bruce intends to ask for clarification, but he know he doesn’t need to. The kid’ll tell him.

“I mean, we’ve got _Wayne_ money,” as he says it, a grin sneaks onto his face. “We could…” and as he speaks he gets more excited, his hands drawing imaginary shapes in the air, “go to a big premiere, or… we could go on a big vacation, a big cruise, or like… a concert, or…”

“That’s enough,” Bruce gently interrupts, his voice quiet as he starts unbuttoning the first of his sleeves.

“I just…” Dick sighs out loud.

Bruce reminds him, “Get undressed,” in a quieter tone.

“I just wanna do something fun sometimes, ya know?” Dick finally moves on to his own tie, although his hands aren’t as efficient. He doesn’t quite have it figured out, so it’s only a few seconds before Bruce turns and moves in, his hands at his neck as he hastily undoes the knot.

“I know,” Bruce tells him.

Dick seems like he wants to say more, but instead he’s staring up at him in silence. Standing this close, Bruce starts to notice that the boy is getting taller. He’s not the small kitten that would curl against him and fall asleep anymore. He’s a growing boy. Taller, and with a mind of his own. Well, he’s always had a mind. But now he has a voice. He wants to make decisions. He wants to feel important, like he’s not just following someone else’s lead.

“You can choose the next event,” Bruce tells him, as he reaches over his shoulder, to set down the tie.

“Really,” Dick’s wide eyes follow him as he moves back, and they continue to stare as he waits for an answer.

“Yes,” Bruce says. And that’s the end of it. Should be the end of it.

“Ya- _ha_ ’hay,” he lets out a small laugh that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a giggle. That’ll pacify him. For now…

But with Dick, it’s never that simple.

“Thanks,” he’s smiling at him, tilting his head up to make sure that Bruce sees it. He stands on his tip-toes, and presses his hands against Bruce’s shoulders. And there’s a moment of confusion; Bruce is always confused, whenever Dick touches him. Because he never, ever knows what he’s about to do next.

“Thank you,” the boy chirps again, as he places his hands on the sides of Bruce’s face. Bruce suddenly feels helpless; the way he always does when Dick startles him with something unexpected. It’s that moment of hesitation that does him in.

Before he can move away or rethink why he’s still standing there, standing so close to him, Dick jumps up, throws his arms around his shoulders and presses a loud kiss to the side of his face. Bruce has to scramble to catch him, but it’s unnecessary; of course he does. He catches him by the waist and maybe one of his legs, and Dick is laughing to himself as he remains there, face buried against the man’s shoulder as his body shakes from his laughter.

“You need sleep,” Bruce says. This is Dick’s last burst of energy before he inevitably passes out; he knows this kid too well.

Dick simply laughs a little more, and kisses him again. This time a little harder, this time a little slower, in the same place as before.

“Dick,” Bruce scolds him. Enough of that…

Dick seems to pause; his body relaxes, finally. And Bruce sets him back down, Dick is looking at him with an unusually stoic expression, mouth straight and eyes heavy. Bruce can’t tell if he’s upset or tired, but there’s no question that it’s getting late, so he nudges him on the shoulder. “Come on,” he says. Bruce leads him out of the room, and Dick follows.

A slow walk down the hallway, and Bruce leads him into his room. He turns on the light, and takes another look at Dick, when he sits down onto his bed. His expression hasn’t changed, not in the minutes since they left Bruce’s bedroom.

“You alright,” Bruce is asking.

“Come here,” Dick says, his eyes darting up at him.

“What is it,” Bruce takes a few steps closer.

“Come _here_ ,” Dick whines, his voice exaggerating his displeasure.

Bruce moves closer—maybe too close—as he stands above him, with more curiosity than he’d like to have.

Dick sends him a small smile as he stands up on the bed, content to finally be at the same level. That gentle smile that’s years beyond his time. It’s the same of a man in control. A man that’s confident in his decision.

And once again, he captures Bruce. He stuns and captures him.

Placing his hands on the side of his face, with a more definite intent he leans in and kisses him once more. Kisses him on the mouth this time, a kiss that’s short and sweet. So gentle and sweet that Bruce can feel how soft his lips are, can feel the faint tease of his intake and exhale of breath when he moves forward again for another one.

He wants to scold him. Needs to stop this from happening. Needs to cancel whatever gave him the wrong message, any message that implied this was acceptable behavior. Needs to stop him from proceeding further, but Dick is still so close to him—his mouth is so close to his—that he’s too hesitant to speak.

And in his silence, Dick continues to kiss him. One after another, soft and gentle. These aren’t the kisses of a brave child. These are the kisses of a preteen that got the wrong idea. A boy that doesn’t completely understand the purpose of kissing like this, doesn’t know what it leads to, doesn’t know what it does, except that right now it feels good.

Bruce rests a hand against his back, just a gesture to ease some of the impact, as he finally leans back and breaks the next kiss Dick attempts. The boy’s staring back at him with wide eyes and a jolt in his body, as he straightens up and attempts to compose himself. Seems to feel a spark of regret, or maybe just fear as they exchange mutual looks of silence and tension.

Bruce finally says, “You need sleep,” as he moves away. “Goodnight.”

Dick looks after him as the man turns to leave the room. He continues staring, staring. Staring in that silence as he finally succumbs to his shame, sitting down onto the bed and crossing his legs as he curls into a ball. But Bruce doesn’t look back. He can’t.

Because this is one of those moments when it’s best to say nothing. When it’s best to let it go, and settle away on its own. Dick will move through whatever emotion he’s feeling. His hormones will settle down. He’ll someday look back at the impulsive foolishness of what he just did, and he’ll laugh to himself. He’ll grow up, find himself a girlfriend and learn what kissing is for, what it’s supposed to feel like, and who you’re supposed to do it with.

So in the meantime, Bruce ignores the quiet sniffles he hears coming from the bedroom. Dick will grow up. He’ll move on. And eventually he’ll look back on this and understand.

-

3

It’s a quiet morning, and he’s barely awakened when he hears the door click open. Drowsy and not entirely aware of what’s going on, when he hears the door click shut. Assumes it was Alfred coming to check on something—probably Alfred—turns onto his back to get comfortable, to soothe some ache in his body, and drifts back into sleep.

Stirs again, when he hears someone breathing. Assumes it’s Dick—it must be Dick—and opens his eyes to make sure, eyelids too heavy to open completely as he turns in the direction of the sound. Sees Dick standing there, hair tousled from sleep, as he’s pulling back the sheets. He’s not alarmed by it—he could never be alarmed—only confused, when Dick keeps the sheets tugged back and crawls in, wearing only the boxers he went to bed in last night.

“Bruce,” he says quietly, as if to see how awake he is.

“Dick,” it’s a question, but also a greeting. It’s whichever of the two that works the best, because his brain is still dialing back to full speed, and his eyes have only barely started to process the world accurately.

Not that it matters, what he can see or not. Dick’s not in his field of vision. He knows he’s there. Hears him breathing. Feels the pillow shift when he lays his head down at the edge of it.

“What do you want,” Bruce finally asks.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dick responds. Says it calmly, and the moment seems to have passed on, when he falls into silence. Bruce can hear the rustling of the bedsheets as he tries to get comfortable. Feels one of his legs brush against his. It’s too close for comfort, but he’d rather let it slide than to say anything. Let the kid relax.

He’s barely even a kid anymore. Old enough to know how strange this is. Old enough to know that it’s socially taboo to crawl into your father figure’s bed. Old enough to know that it’s highly unusual to fall asleep beside him.

But Dick’s never been one to do things by the books. He lacked the necessary structure. Lacked much of the shame necessary to live as a proper son to a proper father. So he lets it slide. Bruce drops his guard, and he begins to drift back into sleep.

It’s a temporary pause.

All too temporary, because Dick gets restless. He moves, and Bruce doesn’t notice the sheets moving and sliding across his body until he feels something new altogether; a touch that startles him awake.

A light and gentle contact against his leg, something cautious like a hand, a hand that moves into an affectionate caress as it travels across his stomach.

“Dick,” he scolds him.

But the boy doesn’t listen; he’s too damn stubborn. Instead he hears that familiar voice, sorrowful and pitiful from where he’s hiding beneath the sheets. “Bruce,” followed by a slight pause and a, “ _please_.”

Bruce can’t resist that tone of voice; but he tries to put limits on. Tries to enforce some semblance of a guideline, because once again, Dick’s caught him by surprise. He’s venturing into unknown territory, and Bruce is once more at a loss at how to curtail it.

He manages to say, “Don’t go too far,” but he knows that won’t be enough. Dick’s idea of _too far_ will exceed his own; intentionally. Dick is patient and kind and obedient, but he’s fucking stubborn when he does things like this.

Things like kissing his ‘old man.’ Things like kissing him repeatedly, as soon as he started finding the right excuses. Things like sitting on his hips and straddling him, rocking gently to press their groins against each other until Bruce tells him to stop. Things like touching him, caressing his chest, trailing kisses across his body while Bruce reclines to watch television.

Dick is taking him as his lover.

Bruce knows that. He needs to stop it. Needs to shut it down. But then Dick touches him again, and the feelings and the sensations are so distracting that-

“ _Dick_ ,” it’s a curse this time; the first word that comes to mind. And the second is quieter, another, “Dick,” because he lacks the coherent thinking to stop him fast enough, and he lacks the willpower to resist what’s happening to him. Lacks the willpower because he wants to feel it. Hates the thought of it. Hates the reality of it.

But he needs it. His body craves it, from the moment Dick begins. His body jerks in response and his muscles tense. His heart starts to race almost immediately. And it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s breathing deep and slow, grinding his teeth to resist the urge to scold this boy and stop him. It’s a matter of minutes before he’s arching his hips forward, and slowly thrusting into Dick’s warm mouth.

He hears the sounds; hears the wet sounds of his lips sucking on his cock, feels the suction as it stimulates him and turns his stomach. Feels the gentle and firm grip of his hand, as he’s pumping the shaft, caressing and jacking him while he kisses and sucks against the tip. He’s getting better with his tongue; Bruce had noticed it in his kisses, in the tastes he’d steal of his body when he was close enough. And he’s using his skill to new effect, tasting the head and trailing his tongue up and down as he pumps in between each coarse stroke. Licks all the way up and closes his lips over the head and sucks again, kisses and starts over, from the base to the top. Sometimes he prods against the head with his tongue like he’s teasing; sometimes he dives right in for a deep kiss.

As he continues on, he gets braver. He gets more ambitious. Bruce is thrusting; he can’t avoid the urge, and when he starts to pound his mouth with more aggression, Dick starts to take the full length inside it. As far as he can, his tongue swirling up and down and teasing as Bruce thrusts his cock inside and back out and inside again.

Bruce doesn’t notice how broken and unsteady his breathing is, until he pays special attention. Hears himself, hears how fucking _aroused_ he sounds. Hears the small groans and moans emerging from Dick’s throat, before he starts to whine to himself. Knows he wants to come, but wonders if he can. Wonders if this is enough.

Bruce hates that he has to wonder. Hates that he's fucking his mouth right now. Hates that he’s going to make Dick come, whether it’s by doing this, or whatever will happen next. Knows that Dick won’t stop until he makes _him_ come. Knows that Dick won’t stop until they both come for each other.

Because Dick is taking Bruce as his lover.

Because Bruce is letting him do it.

“Damn,” he finally murmurs a curse under his breath, because he’s losing his composure. Dick is moaning, and every time he moans he feels the vibration against his cock, feels his tongue move and caress him every time he thrusts.

He gives in.

“Come here,” he commands. Knows Dick will listen.

When Dick pauses, lets his cock slip out of his mouth, and sits up to look at him, Bruce realizes he doesn’t. Not yet.

“Come here,” Bruce repeats.

He notices the glistening saliva on Dick’s lips. Wonders if his mouth tastes like him yet. Feels the immediate surge of disgust, deep inside his chest for thinking something so vulgar.

But what he’s about to do isn’t any better.

Because this is what Dick wants. This is what Dick wants, more than anything. And when Dick initially moves forward, as if to kiss him, Bruce has to stop him in his movement. He has to reach out, and wrap his fingers around Dick’s erect cock. Has to grip it for a moment, an uncomfortable moment when he realizes how hard he is, how sensitive he is, how _large_ he is and that he’s a growing man, with adult desires and a mind that now understands the purpose of them.

It’s a matter of minutes, minutes of physical communication and Dick is back to sucking on Bruce’s cock. But this time he’s doing it more efficiently, his legs sprawled over Bruce’s shoulders as the man’s firm hands caress his erection. He touches it so lovingly that Dick almost wants to cry, because it’s strong and steady. He pumps him to match the rhythm that Dick is moving to, jacks him off at varying pressures that get him so hard he aches.

More pumps; more sucks and kisses and licks. And when Bruce gives a small groan from deep within his chest, Dick feels an excitement he’s never felt before. He takes the full length of the man’s cock inside his mouth, and relaxes his throat in anticipation. He gently licks, sucking one more time—as hard he can—to stimulate him into coming.

The taste of his cum is something he’s never known before. Something he’d only gotten a hint of, when he’d once sampled his own. Never like this; never this strong or this warm, or this overwhelming before. And the sounds Bruce makes while he comes—low and deep groans that travel through his body—and the way he tenses beneath him is beautiful.

Dick tries to swallow, but some of it spills out. Manages to avoid gagging, but almost does before he catches himself in the attempt. Feels it going down his throat, gasps from a new kind of pleasure when he tastes it, licks it off his own lips and delicately, gently licks and cleans the last few drops off Bruce’s cock. Feels it soften as he cleans it, marveling at the feel of it, the appearance, the size, everything he’s always wanted to know and understand. Kisses it and lets it rub against his face before he kisses it again.

Has to pause in motion when Bruce jerks on his cock particularly hard; when he gets especially rough, so rough it almost hurts, and Dick is panting out loud from the sudden rush.

He’s come before. But never like this.

Never like this, he’s jacked fast and hard by Bruce, with his firm hands and his strong grip as he lets his lips remain pressed against the man’s cock, voices his slow sighs and moans as he feels an orgasm move through him. Pants so hard he almost sobs, when he feels that wave of euphoria and the sensation of being here on top of him, here with him with the taste of cum still in his mouth and the feel of his lover’s hands still caressing him.

“Bruce,” he manages; it’s more fragile than he intends.

“What is it,” a quiet murmur.

Dick is breathing so heavily that he almost laughs, because suddenly it’s somehow too overwhelming and startling to do anything else, to form a more adequate response. “Thank you.”

In his mind, Bruce was only doing what Dick wanted.

But around now… By now, as he caresses the boy’s softening erection, lets his eyes travel across his body, as he takes in the view of how tight and firm he is, how sculpted he is, how beautiful he is, and how warm and reassuring and-

Bruce has to accept that he wanted this, too.

Dick speaks quietly, as he’s smiling to himself. “Thank you so much.”

-

4

When he heard the news, he cried. He cried until his throat was raw, and there were no tears left to shed. Cried until he couldn’t speak anymore, cried until he could only talk in faint and hoarse sounds that resembled the words he intended.

When he enters the room, he doesn’t know what to expect. Doesn’t know what he’ll find in there. Doesn’t know what it looks like, doesn’t want to imagine a man like him being broken. Doesn’t want to picture him down on his knees.

He leaves the light off, out of respect. To hide any tears the man might’ve shed. He knows he’s not the type to cry. He’d never seen the man cry, not once in his entire life with him. But it’s been a while. They’ve been separated for a while. They’ve both changed. They must have.

And this. _This_ changes someone. This will change a man.

“Bruce,” he keeps his voice gentle, as he approaches the dark silhouette sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Dick,” and it’s barely a whisper. He only knows that sound, because he’s heard it so many times.

“How are you holding up,” he stands before him, looking down as his eyes focus in the darkness. He starts to see the outline of his face.

Bruce looks up. “Fine.” It’s a lie.

But that’s okay. It’s okay, this time.

Dick places his hands on his shoulders. Stares back calmly as they acknowledge each other, unbroken eye contact and the mutual, rhythmic sounds of their breathing, shallow and slow in the quiet room. He trails his hands down his back; immediately notices the tension in his body. Wants to hold him—needs to, now—but he knows Bruce would only freeze up, so he doesn’t move any closer.

“You’re not okay,” he says.

Bruce doesn’t respond.

Dick kneels down onto his knees, to look at him directly. Presses a hand to the side of his face, and studies him carefully. Cautiously. Notices the stress around his eyes, the harsh shadows that indicate his lack of sleep. The tension in his mouth and the weariness in his expression.

It hit him hard. Of course it did.

He leans forward and kisses him, the same way he has so many times. But it’s different, now. There’s no response back. No spark from the man, only acceptance.

He’s vanishing inside himself. Eyes that see him, but are really looking into the far distance. Eyes that are looking into the past.

Into the past, chasing memories of a boy that now ceases to exist.

Dick kisses him one more time, this time on the face below his eyes. Kisses him that single time, slides an arm around his back and holds him close. Feels his breathing, slow and shallow. Notices the tension as he reacts, body tensing up the way he always does. Drapes the other arm around his shoulders and keeps him there, in that tight embrace.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says.

It will.

-

5

“Bruce,” he’s not wasting any time. Not now. It’s been a long time. Too long.

Too long; there’s no time to hesitate.

“Dick,” Bruce reaffirms, staring up with a familiar hunger as Dick straddles his hips. Knees on either side of Bruce’s waist, as he lifts his shirt and strips it off over his shoulders. Feels the intent stare from Bruce’s eyes, notices the way they follow every curve of muscle and the bend of his chest when he tosses the shirt behind him onto the floor.

They establish eye contact; a direct look, and Dick’s mouth curves into a familiar grin, when he leans down and kisses him. Gives a flirtatious taste, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip as Bruce reaches up and winds a hand through his hair.

It shouldn’t excite him this much; not the way it always does. But there’s something remarkable in being touched by him. Something profound in the way Bruce touches him. Something beautiful.

Dick laughs softly, and kisses him again.

And it’s a matter of minutes and removing the rest of their clothes and touching and stroking each other’s bodies with sweaty skin and harsh breaths and frantic movements where their legs get entangled and their arms brush against each other and their mouths are gasping for breath in between the kisses. Dick sits in his lap and winds his arms around his back, trailing kisses down the side of his face as he takes the full length of his cock inside him. Shivers when it goes out, shakes when it comes back out and pushes in again. Starts to moan to the rhythm of Bruce moving his hips, rocking and thrusting as his own breathing starts to break up.

It’s been like this for a while. It’s been like this for days. Ever since that day.

Since the day that Dick came to visit after such a long time away. Since the day that Bruce allowed him in his bed, and when they kissed— _really_ kissed, the kind of kiss with someone you love—and when Bruce agreed to have sex, only if it was mutual, only if Dick was sure.

Dick had always known. He’d always known, since the first time he kissed him at all. Since the early days, when he’d sit beside him and feel safe.

He’d always known this was the man he wanted. This was the man he loved. This was the man he would love, until kingdom come.

When he kisses him, Dick still sometimes feels like he’s dying. Open-mouthed and desperate, he enjoys the taste of his mouth, and the way his tongue feels against his own. He loves the way that Bruce forgets to breathe, and has to break the kiss to gasp suddenly before he returns to it. Loves the way that Bruce times each thrust, the way he pushes inside him rhythmically and strong, using all of his power. Loves the feel of Bruce’s lips, and how he flinches briefly—only briefly, before he disregards it—when he bites against them. Loves the texture of Bruce’s skin, when he trails kisses down his face. Loves the scent of his sweat and the creaking rock of the bed and the strong and firm hold of Bruce’s arms around him, holding his body extremely close.

When Bruce fucks him, Dick feels like his lover. He holds him close like a man in love, kisses him like a man obsessed and gives him pleasure, hours and hours more than he ever asks for. He thrusts and Dick moans and Bruce kisses his skin and seems to sigh when he buries his face against his neck. Thrusts and runs a hand through Dick’s hair when he starts to moan. Kisses his face and kisses his lips and it becomes impossible to know who is kissing who anymore, who is controlling the thrust and who is receiving the pleasure.

Bruce fucks him, and for the first time there’s no guilt, and there’s no shame. Fucks him hard enough to make him whimper and cry. Hard enough to make the man straddling his waist whine with pleasure, and it’s so damn erotic because he remembers when that voice used to playfully beg for a goodnight kiss. He remembers when that voice used to ask for hugs, when that small voice was tiny and fragile and scared and looking to him for reassurance that he was going to be okay, now that he was alone.

Remembers the way it felt, when Dick started to send smiles in his direction, and never stopped. Remembers the way it felt, when he started to curl against him and fall asleep. Remembers how it felt, the confusion and the agony when he awakened his sexual desire, and began to sleep in his bed. Remembers how it felt, when he realized the little boy he’d been so afraid of, this child he’d been trying to protect was now stronger than him. That he was a man with more heart, more courage, and more understanding than he’d ever possessed.

When Dick came back from Bludhaven, and their night alone became the night he fell in love with a man he’d never known before; the man that took his heart and kept it and treasured it and brought him endless joy in return.

Nights of pleasure and days of comfort and Dick is moaning into Bruce’s ear when he comes, shivering and murmuring an “I love you so much,” as he collapses against him.

Bruce fucks him until he comes. Kisses him the whole way through. Holds him close and vows to never let go, promises himself to never forget this moment, and the way it feels to give in. Murmurs back an, “Of course,” and he knows that Dick knows what he means. Knows that Dick understands what he’s communicating. Knows that Dick has known, has always known how he feels; the prompt kiss against the side of his face reaffirms his certainty of it.

Because Dick is his lover.

And that’s what happens when you love each other.


End file.
